Chapters (45)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- Prologue
- 2046
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- About the Author
‘THE GREENS!’ he booms round at the smiling sycophants. ‘Bloody Greens he says, did you hear him? He said the Greens! Carmichael is a bloody Green . . . what about Mrs Carmichael? She a Green too?’
‘Unfortunately not, sir. The good Mrs Carmichael cast her pledge towards the presently incumbent government.’
‘A Tory!’ he shouts with victory. ‘Pass on my heartfelt thanks to your good lady wife, Carmichael, and tell her I said her husband is a bloody evil taskmaster.’
‘Will do, sir.’
‘What have we got left then?’ he asks with a heavy theatrical sigh.
‘Private business, sir,’ Carmichael replies, knowing not to give the identity of the caller away in a corridor full of aides.
‘Which one?’
‘Sir.’ Carmichael passes the tablet over, taking care to angle the screen solely towards his boss.
‘Ah right,’ he says, reading the screen. ‘How long?’
‘Ten minutes, sir.’
‘Right, bring him straight down and can someone get me a mug of tea please?’
He sweeps past, ignoring Safa, who in turn ignores the look of utter distaste sent her way from Carmichael. Voices clamour as the aides rush down the corridor and past the base of the famous yellow stairs.
‘Safa to static control, corridor clear.’
‘Understood.’
She waits, standing easy next to the lift as aides and staff bustle about. One more meeting to go. With luck it will be a long one and delay him finishing work for the evening.
‘Gate to front door, private business caller en route to you. Search complete and negative.’
‘Front door received, visual on the private business caller now. Confirm white male, dark hair, blue suit with dark red tie.’
‘Gate to front door, confirm visuals. Yes yes.’
‘Front door receiving caller now, transfer under way. Caller at the door.’
An aide bustles past Safa towards the door, pausing only to straighten his suit and adopt a suitable countenance.
‘Good evening, sir. Please do come in.’ The aide holds the door open just enough for the man to step through. ‘Follow me.’ The aide moves off down the corridor as Safa sweeps her eyes over the private business caller.
Safa looks ahead until he has gone past and resumes the visual inspection, now examining his back, her eyes running over the folds of his clothes looking for anything that should not be there.
‘Safa to control, private business caller inside.’
‘Understood.’
She waits. That’s all this job is really. Waiting. Lots of waiting and watching. The dread builds. Tension in her shoulders, which she rolls gently. Every second that goes by is a second closer to him coming down to the lift and the evening of utter shit that lies ahead. Fourteen days. Just fourteen days.